Stop taking pictures!

That title is totally click-bait, I’m not here to tell you what to do. This isn’t an attack, and if you find yourself feeling criticised, click away. I’m not here to start shit. I’m just processing my thoughts out loud, as I do. Wondering why we humans act how we do and if it’s serving us the way we need it to.

With the disclaimer said; I’ve been digging into the way cameras—and everyone’s immediate access to them—shapes our society and our interactions.

For some reason, I never caught on. Photography isn’t something I’ve got a burning passion for. I wasn’t the kid turning in rolls of film to be developed, and I got a phone capable of taking (poor quality) images a good while after my peers. I also don’t look at my photos much and I’m certain that people taking their fifth trip to the zoo aren’t going back over their hundreds of animal shots either. I think, for some, taking pictures is how they immerse themselves. It’s the act of taking the picture that matters, more than the end product. But for me, the act of taking photos feels awkward.

I know I’m not alone in being uncomfortable in front of a camera, but I make sure there are photos of me because my kids will want them one day. Beyond my discomfort, is the discomfort that my subjects might feel or the inconvenience to the people around me. Because of this, my photos are usually candids, or have been taken at the request of the child.

I don’t want to give the impression that I think photos and videos are bad, I don’t. I’m so happy I have photos of my babies – photos of times that I largely don’t remember because of the all-consuming fatigue. I wish I had more photos of my mum. Photos are useful too. I’m trying to teach myself to photograph items and then throw the actual item away if the item’s purpose it simply to stimulate memories, for example.

But I do think it can go too far. I’ve been at public events many times where children are playing and adults are constantly interrupting them to have them pose for photos. Or the children will be playing, and parents are asking each other to pull their children away so they can take photos. The logic is strong – we shouldn’t be photographing each other’s kids and who wants some rando kid in their family snaps?— but at the same time, the children are actively enjoying the things we’ve dragged them along to. They’re busy living. Making memories. And quite often, once the perfect photo is achieved, the parent is done and wants to move along. I’ve caught myself doing it too.

Yes, we’re capturing images to serve as a visual reminder of the day, but what memories are going to be triggered when we or the kids look back? I have childhood photos of my sister and I where all I remember was the photo being taken. The photo is the memory, there’s nothing attached to it, and I feel like that probably wasn’t the intent.

Sometimes I’ll realise that a milestone is happening, and I’ll take a photo or hit record, but more often than not I’m busy living and there’s no documented proof. I write it out later in my planner, or I’ll blog about it in detail. A few times, I’ve messaged a friend and been like “Artemis said this really cute thing” or “you’ll never guess what Bast can do now” and they respond “the photo isn’t loading” or “have her do it again so you can get it on camera.”

Why? It was perfect how it was. And I will know the video is a fake. More, the story is just as valid without photographic proof. (For me! I’m not speaking for how other people experience the world.)

My kids have no problem asking me to film them if they want to be filmed, but they’re old enough now that they would have questions if everything they said, did, wore, made, or played was immortalised. Meanwhile I’ve worked really hard to put down my phone. To use my devices less, and with more intention. My phone isn’t in my hand – it’s not as simple as clicking the camera button. It’s not even in my pocket half the time. It’s somewhere else, and I’d have to interrupt whatever is happening to go get it.

At the top of my “But why?!” list is food photos. Seriously, why?

My Father-in-law and I laugh about this. If we’re at a restaurant, he absolutely must take a couple of perfect photos of everyone’s meals before they’re touched. It helps him enjoy the food. Does he ever look back at those photos? I assume he does. He’s pretty much the only person I will allow to photograph my food, too. Everyone else can suck it; I want to eat my dinner hot. And if you take my photo while I’m eating it? I will hex you. Don’t be doing that.

Sometimes I get scared that I’ll regret being how I am. Black Swan takes a minimum of thirty photos a day and that’s amazing. The absolute bank of memories she must have! The fact that she could use those images to plot the development of each of my niblings, catching every single change… that’s awesome. It’s perfect for her because she spends a lot of time looking through her photos. She’s taken a photography course. She re-watches her home videos on a regular basis. Life recorded is totally her thing and she’s awesome at it. But I’m not like that. I know I will look over my hard drives one day and I will be grateful for what I have, but I don’t think I want a tonne of slice-of-life videos. I’d be asking myself “what’s the point of this?” “Why did I save this?” Perhaps that’s my writer brain.

I take a couple of photos if we’re out or if the mood strikes. If I see something randomly inspiring. I take photos on the first day of school and I video the kids’ school performances. But I don’t want to interrupt the flow of life – mine or any one else’s. I don’t want the same strained-smile photo with a hundred different backgrounds. I don’t want to marry my phone or miss enjoying something because I’m focused on recoding. Life doesn’t have to be shared on Facebook to be worth living, and stories don’t have to be captured on film to be shared.

I guess the take-away here is: Are we using our cameras as a tool to increase enjoyment in life, or are they creating a barrier between us and true connection?

I suspect everyone’s answer will be different.

Miriam Cumming is a chronic over-thinker, who gets crushed under the combined weight of a thousand tiny moments that, by themselves, mean nothing. When they’re not trying to make sense of life, ne enjoys cute stationary, walks in the sunshine, and LEGO.